


Cake Day Shenanigans

by relativestranger



Series: Just MakoHaru Things [3]
Category: Free!
Genre: All the Smut, Fluff, Gratuitous Smut, Humor, Just MakoHaru Things, M/M, More Smut Than You Know What to Do With, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:16:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7353097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relativestranger/pseuds/relativestranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A birthday isn't a birthday until you get what you <i>really</i> want. Good thing Makoto is more than willing and happy to rectify that. With marathon birthday sex. Duh.<br/>Thanks, Makoto. You're truly doing the Lord's work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake Day Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct continuation of Haru's big birthday funday extravaganza from my _"Term of Endearment"_ fic. I suppose you don't _need_ to read Chapter 13 if you don't _want_ to, but if you _do_ or if you missed it the first time around or if you need a refresher before starting this, who am I to deny you that?
> 
> It's June 30th. You know what this is. And if you don't, you clearly haven't been paying attention.  
> So hold on to your butts.  
> This is not at drill. Warnings for everyone. Warnings everywhere. It's long and filthy. Phrasing. (Not that that's a big departure from my usual work.)
> 
> There's some fluff buried in this.  
> I think.  
> Maybe.  
> I'm not sure anymore.

When they pull away, his eyes flicker up and meets the bright, half-lidded, emerald eyes peering down at him expectantly. Pink creeps across Makoto’s cheeks but instead of teasing him about it (which would be, you know, _hypocritical_ ), he buries his own flushed, warm face into his broad and welcoming chest. Taking deep breaths to calm his hammering heart and raging libido, Haru sighs contently at Makoto curling his arm protectively around him, pulling him tightly against him.

Makoto rests his cheek in his hair and murmurs, “Almost home, Haru-chan."

His voice is low and hasn't taken the dark, velvety quality he's come to associate with his unspoken promises but this was definitely a promise nonetheless. The train smoothly pulls up into their station and they walk leisurely to their next station; their hands casually linked together and their shoulders bumping against each other.

Being back in Tokyo meant being assaulted by a variety of loud noises and bright lights and a flood of people. Even at 7:30 at night. _Especially_ at 7:30 at night. Even on weekdays. And especially so at 7:30 on a _Friday_ night. But Haru and Makoto have been here long enough to skillfully dodge and weave through the crowds, make it to their station, and after a fifteen minute ride along with ten minute walk, they're finally back home.

The door is barely unlocked—with the lights blinking on—when Haru finds Makoto trying to climb into his shirt. And really, if Makoto hadn't done it, he would have done it himself. A whole day’s worth of lingering touches, gentle looks, warm hands, and barely there grazes of the lips made him itchy. One _long_ day’s worth of foreplay had him bursting with need.  
And the kiss on the train didn't help. It sent a little thrill through his veins that Makoto hadn't pulled away; that he was just as affected by the day's activities.  
That he completely disregarded his surroundings and focused solely on him.  
That he wanted him as much as he did.

They swiftly toe off their shoes and nearly trip over the genkan as they stumble toward the living room. His pants feel tight around his thighs and crotch, his cock straining against the front of his jeans. He hadn't even realized he was hard until he felt the metal teeth biting roughly into him through the thin material of his boxers. Makoto's hands paw at the button and zipper, tugging the fasteners loose. His own hands slip under Makoto’s shirt desperately trying to tear it off but finds that he’s too intoxicated by his touch to actually do so.

Haru's back hits the wall roughly with Makoto pressing him up against the hard, flat surface. Makoto slides his thigh between his legs, grinding it against his engorged erection. Haru rubs himself urgently at his muscular thigh, desperately seeking release as delirium begins to set in because Makoto’s thigh against him just feels so, so, _so_ _good_.

He pants hotly at his ear, “ _Hah_ , Makoto..."

Makoto tugs at Haru’s belt loops, “Let me get this off, Haru.”

Makoto takes a step back but he’s quickly pulled back into Haru’s arms. “Don’t… don't go,” Haru rolls his pelvis at him. Clutching at Makoto’s hips, he holds Makoto to him, arching as he frantically grinds his length along Makoto’s burgeoning erection.

Makoto temporarily abandons his quest to divest Haru of his jeans. Instead, slipping his hands into his jeans and squeezing his ass, opting to thrust impatiently into Haru's quivering body. Clothed, unclothed, other various stages of dress or undress; it doesn’t matter much to him as long as Haru's hot cock is on him. And Haru's hot cock is most definitely on him and it feels “So, so, _so_ good,” as he throatily croaks in Haru's ear.

Makoto's hand drifts to the front, palming at Haru's raging hard-on eagerly. "Fuck, Haru," he nips at his chin, "you're already so wet. You're dripping, Haru-chan."

Haru shudders in his arms and gasps quietly, “It's... It's your fault," he whines hoarsely.

Makoto hums pleasantly, pleased with Haru’s response, “Shall I take care of that for you?"

Haru's jeans barely cling on the curve of his hips when Makoto finally extricates himself from Haru's grip and drops to his knees, tugging it down his legs. Makoto nuzzles his cheek against the dark, wet stain before dragging his boxers over his cock; his freshly freed cock smacking him in the face.

"S-shit!" Haru splutters in apology but Makoto chuckles and waves it off, kneading gentle circles over his pelvis. "It's fine. I'm okay. How many times has that happened to you?"

He’s saved from answering when Makoto flicks his tongue at his leaking cock, humming at the heady taste while he thrusts aimlessly in Makoto’s general direction.

“Wanted to do this this morning,” he murmurs against his throbbing cock.

Haru processes the words slowly and, after some time, asks, “Why didn’t you?”

Makoto’s mouth glides up his slick cock as he releases him in order to answer, “Didn’t want your mackerel to get cold.”

A guttural groan falls from his lips, his head thumping back against the wall, “I rather have this than the mackerel.”

He pulls off him completely, his eyes wide with astonishment, “You... You mean _I actually beat mackerel_?”

Haru combs his fingers through his soft, olive-brown hair, “I’d always pick Makoto before mackerel.”

His eyes light up like a kid going to Disneyland for the very first time. “Oh, Haru... Wait, what about water?” 

He looks down at him, scandalized by the question, “Don’t push it.”

Makoto tries to suppress a laugh but it wheezes out anyway. "Oh, Haru," he rises to his feet to capture his mouth in a heated kiss. "One day..." he promises.

Haru's hands drift toward the bulge tenting at the front of Makoto's trousers and squeezes him wantonly through the material. Makoto thrusts himself into his warm hands and Haru hums at the feel of him pulsing in his hands. Why he still has his pants on is a mystery but they'll be off in two seconds.  
...Two seconds pass and Makoto's pants are still on but only because Makoto is back on his knees, mouthing at his cock again. Haru's fingers tunnels through his hair instead, groaning in delight at the wet warmth of Makoto’s mouth. Haru feels his knees buckle but the wall and Makoto keeps him on his feet.  
...That is until Makoto lifts his legs and drapes them over his shoulders.

Haru yelps, hands flying out to grip at the light fixture near his head. "Shit! Makoto!"

Using his strength, Makoto tilts Haru's hips, encouraging him to ride his face but without the proper use of his legs, Haru can't seem to get the right leverage. So he grips the light fixture tighter and prays to whatever god—or gods—that is—or are—listening that he doesn't rip it out of the wall and rolls his hips cautiously.  
Makoto helps him out; bracing one of his large, strong hands across his back while the other clamps down around his thigh, guiding his movements as he continues to skim his mouth over his swollen shaft.  
Haru whimpers when he hits the back of Makoto's throat and a husky wail spills from him when Makoto swallows around his sensitive head.   
Makoto hollows his cheeks, eagerly and slowly gliding up and down Haru’s thick cock; his saliva and precome making the movement over him easier. He pulls off of him and kisses his length, suckling his base, and curling his tongue around the underside of his cock—tracing the throbbing vein there while murmuring quietly against him before nipping at his sharp pelvis.

Makoto, confident that Haru won't topple over, lets go of his thigh in favor of his ass. The light caress of a finger teases at his dusky asshole causing Haru to tense in anticipation. The finger scoops up some saliva and precome dripping down his cock before bringing it back to the impatient, twitching entrance. He lazily sinks the slicked up finger into his heat, slowly dragging his digit in and out of his warmth. Haru bucks at the intrusion and pants in pleasure at being filled. Makoto rubs his cheek against his cock as he turns his head to kiss the insides of his pale thighs. A groan fills the air; Makoto biting down on his smooth thigh when Haru clenches around his probing finger. He moves to take him back in his mouth but Haru stops him.

"Makoto... Want- _oh, fuck_ , want you."

Makoto lowers Haru's shaking legs, rises to his full height, and shoves him back against the wall. Makoto shudders when Haru licks him, his hot tongue curling over his cheek as he cleans the splash of precome clinging to his skin. Makoto rakes his fingers through Haru’s hair, forcefully turning his head back to him, and his tongue slithers into his panting mouth. He curls his hand around Haru's shaft, giving him a teasing squeeze and Haru nips at his tongue in retaliation. He drags his hands over the curve of his ass, his finger slipping between his crack.

"Fuck. I'll be right back," he pulls away.

Haru whines lowly, “No..."

He gives him a quick kiss, “Just stay here. Won't be long."

Haru shoves him lightly and mumbles, “Fine…" he exhales noisily and pushes off the wall, "I guess I’ll go wash up,” he gives him a quick, chaste kiss, “so _hurry up_.”

He flies down the hallway but overshoots their room. Grabbing the door jam, he stops his momentum and he stumbles in. He yanks the nightstand open and—not minding his strength—pulls the drawer completely from its housing and the contents spill to the floor. He carelessly tosses the drawer to the side and roots around the pile to locate the bottle of lube.

"Makoto,” he hears Haru call for him impatiently and he swipes the bottle from the floor.

"Yeah! I got it! I got it." His eyes darts from his hands to his pants and then shoves the bottle into his mouth; he'll need both hands for this. He fumbles with the button and zipper as he rushes back down the hall and skids past where Haru is leaning against the wall. He slips on his sock-covered feet, his hands scrambling against the floor to stop him from crashing as he course corrects.

Haru laughs at him, taking the bottle from between his teeth when he stands in front of him again. “Are you okay?"

"Don't laugh, Haru-chan. It's not nice." Makoto looks like a wreck; his shirt is rumpled with noticeable wrinkles, his hair is tangled and matted with beads of sweat forming along his hairline, and one pant leg is caught around his ankle. He tries to kick it off but to no avail. So he reaches down, tearing at it, “You try doing ten things at once,” he grumbles as yanks his socks off as well. He shrugs out of his formerly crisp shirt the same time he grasps Haru's soft cotton tee and jerks him into his arms, not bothering to remove his undershirt. Makoto flirtatiously nips at his lips and grins cheekily, “That was quick, Haru-chan.”

Haru climbs into his arms and hums against his lips, “Couldn’t help it… Want you.” He dangles the bottle of lube and tilts his head inquisitively, “No condom?"

Makoto eyes snap open, “Oh, shit, I didn't even think..."

"It's just you usually—"

Makoto cuts him off, “Yeah, I'll go—"

Haru nips the shell of his ear and interrupts, “No, it's fine. I like it better this way."

"Haru..." Makoto groans deeply.

Haru tugs at his ear, "I want you to come in me. I want to feel you fill me up," his hot breath and raspy voice sending shivers down Makoto's spine.

"Fuck… You can’t say things like that, Haru..."

“But I like what it does to you,” he flicks his tongue at his swollen lips, "And what it does to me."

“ _Haru_ …" Haru sighs into his mouth, grinding his ass against Makoto's hardness, proving his point. “So soft, Haruka…” Mewling into his mouth, Haru flips the cap up and quickly coats Makoto's cock generously with the cold lube. Makoto hisses upon contact and pants for Haru to wait, “Hold on… Gotta stretch you first, Haru."

But Haru shakes his head, “It’s fine. Can’t wait. Want you in me now."

“No, Haru, it'll hurt."

With some difficulty, Haru pulls away to look at Makoto, his long, dark lashes fluttering coyly. " _Please_ , Makoto," he brushes his lips against Makoto's jawline, "I want to feel you now, Makoto," another brush against his cheek, “It's my _birthday_ , Makoto," he finally whispers against his plump lips.

Makoto curses lowly, his resolve completely dissolving under his heated gaze and the low, sultry rumble in which he says his name. He slams him up against the wall, pulling harsh grunts from both their chests. Their tongues and teeth clash as they bite and suck at each other.

Makoto's slick cock slides between his ass cheeks, coating his opening and Haru's hand wraps around Makoto as he lines him up with his entrance. He licks his lips and looks into Makoto's eyes unwaveringly, " _fuck me_ , _Makoto_.”

Makoto growls at the demand and plunges roughly into him.

White, hot pain tears through him and Haru wails brokenly. He hadn't expected to hurt _that_ much.  _Bad idea. Bad, bad, **bad** idea_. _Fuck_ , he feels like such an _idiot_ for thinking he can get away with not being properly prepared.  
Tears spring to his eyes and he tries to hide it from Makoto, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face into his neck but Makoto feels the hot tears soaking through his shirt.

 _Shit._  
Shit.

"Haru," he gently lifts his head from his shoulder and wipes the tear streaking down his face with his thumb. "Are you okay? I _knew_ I should've prepared you..."

"I'm okay," Haru hiccups unconvincingly.

He shouldn’t have let himself be swayed by Haru's pleas and pretty words. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt Haru. _Especially_ when they're being intimate. He laments on his weakness. "You're not, Haru. You're hurt."

"No, I..." He stops short because there’s no sense in lying so he amends, “I… just didn't expect it to be like that."

“Haru, I—"

He glares at him, even with tears prickling his eyes, "D-don't you dare apologize, Makoto. Don't ever apologize for what we do."

"I wasn't going to. I was just going to say I'll be gentler next time, slower."

A lie if he ever heard one but Makoto recovered well so he lets it slide. “Oh. Well, good, then. And I'll do the same for you."

Makoto reaches up, tenderly stroking his thumb along his jaw, "Haru-chan is so considerate."

"Lay of the -chan," he laughs and murmurs weakly.

"How do you feel?" Makoto murmurs, caressing his face and pushing his hair back, his tone gentle but concern audibly evident.

Haru breathes through his nose heavily but after a few deep breaths, he grows a bit dizzy. He leans into the gentle touch, rubbing his cheek at his warm hand and kissing his wrist. “Better.” He's not _lying_. He does feel better; the pain still radiates but there’s something else just underneath the pain… It’s starting to feel… _good_. Stinging. But good. "…Just give me a minute."

"Take all the time you need. Not going anywhere. No place I'd rather be."

Makoto kisses him softly, distracting Haru from the dull, splitting pain from where he's seated. His feather-light touch skims over his damp skin and a trail of goosebumps erupts in its wake.  
Haru sags against him, his body relaxing and unclenching around him. Haru slides his hands under his shirt, his fingers flexing against the dips and curves of Makoto's wide back.

“Mako...to," a breathy mumble wakes Makoto from his reverie.

Makoto peppers Haru's neck and collar with a variety of licks and kisses before nipping at his lip. He groans at the light squeeze Haru gives him. "Okay?" He queries to which Haru mumbles, " _yes_."

He gives him an experimental thrust and Haru's head lolls back against the wall, a gruff hiss catches in his throat.

"Haru..." Haru opens his eyes, they're dazed and unfocused but he hums in response. "Haruka," he flicks at his lips, "ride me."

"Wha-what?"

"Ride me. It’ll better for you if— _ah_ ," he cuts off at Haru pulling himself up.

Makoto's head drops forward, lips skipping across Haru's collarbone. Haru readjusts himself, his hands grappling Makoto's shoulders for leverage as he once again pulls himself up and then slowly easing back down. They moan and whimper at the carefully deliberate movement, at the leisurely cautious pace set. After several handfuls of experimental thrusts, Haru begin to ride him earnestly—rocking against him and rolling his hips like gentle waves lapping the shore.

The quiet moans quickly turn into guttural pants and gasps. Makoto grips his hips tightly, his blunt nails marring his flesh with angry, red crescent-shaped marks as he desperately tries to ground himself in Haru's warmth. He rests his forehead against the cool wall and moaning _Haruka_ into his shoulder. Makoto’s active hands slide under his shirt, playing and rolling and flicking his nipples. Haru cries out under his fingers — his body tensing and fluttering around him.  
Makoto groans whenever Haru reflexively clenches around him when his fingers dances over his nipples. Or ribs. Or sternum. “You're so sensitive today, Haru.” That earns him another hard squeeze.

“Been… wanting… _waiting_ , hah, all day,” he chokes out as he undulates over Makoto.

“Me… me too, Haruka."

The air in the apartment feels unbearably hot and sticky; the July humidity making its unwanted—not to mention, early—appearance. Makoto’s hands slip and scramble over smooth, slick skin as he guides Haru’s movements over him. He drops gentle kisses on his shoulders, neck, and chest as he tries to distract himself from losing himself in Haru’s embrace. But Haru doesn’t make it easy as tiny puffs of air curl over his damp, hot skin. And the delicious little noises Haru makes echo in his ears, making him even harder.  
Haru mewls breathlessly at Makoto’s swelling cock, delighting in the burn as it stretches him further. He rocks insistently against Makoto, arching into him—his dripping, hot cock sliding under the hem his shirt and over the hard planes of stomach—and riding him harder and faster than just a minute ago.

“Fuck. Ha-Haru, _ohfuck_ , Haruka… So tight,” Makoto gasps unevenly. His head involuntarily snaps back when Haru sinks onto him— _impaling_ himself on Makoto’s cock—burying hard and deep between Haru's hot, tight walls. “ _Fuck_! Wh-what, Haruka… so, hah, Haruka… love the way you feel,” he babbles.

“Ma-Makoto... So good... I—" Haru groans, his voice is thick and raspy. His mouth has become unhelpfully dry so he licks his lips because he needs to get this out. "Makoto. _Please_. Need…” he licks his lips again, “need to feel you, please."

“Haru…” he cautions.

“Please. Don’t… don’t hold back."

Makoto swallows harshly, “Are you sure?”

Makoto’s number one priority has always been his comfort and making sure that he’s  _comfortable_ in everything they do — whether it’s trying that new Vietnamese restaurant that opened up down the block or how hard he fucks him against the wall. Haru’s eyes soften and he kisses him gently all while trying to impress on him that, _yes,_ he’s sure _._ _Yes_ , he wants this. _Yes_ , he wants to be fucked— _hard_.

“Haru,” he half laughs and and half sighs in reverence.

Makoto’s hands drift to his shoulders, prying Haru’s hands off and places tender kisses on each knuckle. He holds his arms over his head, enclosing both of Haru’s hands within one of his larger ones and pins them against the wall high above them. His other hand clutches his hip and he’s pretty sure that it’s going to leave bruises but the filthy groan that unknowingly escapes from Haru’s mouth lets him know that he's okay.  
Makoto rears back but instead of the raw and wild fucking Haru was expecting, he eases back into him achingly slow. He does it again, rolling his hips gently and they continue like that for several minutes until Haru sobs incoherently, their fingers tangling and twisting together in a vice-like grip. Makoto wraps his free arm around Haru’s waist, lifting him up and very nearly off his cock and then slamming back into him, pounding him into the wall.

Haru doesn’t even try to stop the wail that bubbles from his throat, keening loudly and unashamed and nearly crushing Makoto’s hand in his unrelenting grip. Haru's chest rises and falls erratically, gasping at the way Makoto's cock twitches inside him, whining gravelly at the way his cock impossibly swells to fill and stretch his hot, tight ass. The moans fall with reckless abandon with each rough drive of Makoto’s hips.  
With each deep plunge of Makoto’s cock.  
With each merciless shove against the unyielding wall.  
All breath being fucked out of his lungs as he expels air faster than he can replenish it.

Haru’s vision blurs and his head grows dizzy and he can’t seem to think or string together syllables except three: _Ma_ , _ko_ , and _to_.  
“Makoto.” _Please_.  
“Makoto.” _More_.  
“Makoto.” _Again_.  
“Makoto.” _Deeper_.  
He cries his name, each successive mewl louder and headier than the last.

And Makoto finds that he's unable utter anything but three particular syllables himself: _Ha_ , _ru_ , and _ka_. His name spills from his lips in a continuous stream of praise, encouragement, and reverence.  
“Haruka.” _So good_.  
“Haruka.” _So tight_.  
“Haruka.” _So hot_.  
“Haruka.” _Squeeze me_.

Makoto reluctantly lets go of his hands in favor of grabbing his hips and thighs instead, pulling him down onto his cock the same time he thrusts up into his hot ass.

“Hold on tight, Haru,” Makoto grits huskily.

Haru’s back slides up and down the wall—rubbing his shoulder blades raw. One hand twists at Makoto's shirt — fingers boring into his broad, tense shoulders — while the other hand scrabbles to find the light fixture again, pulling himself up and rotating his hips hastily.  
Makoto grunts at Haru’s movements. He leans back, draping one of Haru’s legs over his arm and angling his hips, allowing him to drive into Haru’s body deeper and harder. Rising to the balls of his feet, Makoto plunges his thick cock into Haru’s tightness and gasping when the curved head finds his prostate.

"R-right there!" Haru stutters. “Don't stop. 'm gonna come. Ple-please don't stop."

It's unusual for Haru to use such language, and Makoto would otherwise be concerned at the way Haru slurs, but he knows the reason for his informal speech and it fills him with primal pride.

Haru’s fervent keens rattle around his chest, whining and mewling every time Makoto’s cock unerringly scrapes at his prostate. He wants to cry in frustration at how close he is but can’t seem to get over the hump. Because Makoto speeds up and slows down randomly, drawing out his orgasm and purposely denying him his climax. Constantly driving him right to the edge but then backing off at the very last second.

“Haru… Haruka… Look at me.”

Haru whimpers at the request but does so with a whine. Makoto's eyes are _so_ green and _so_ dark. They're unfocused but full of heat and lust under the unmistakable spark.

Makoto brushes his fingers against his cheek and Haru turns toward the touch, taking comfort in the gentle touch despite their harsh coupling. Makoto leans in close, his hot breath rasps against the shell of his ear, “Let go, Haru. Come. I wanna see you... wanna hear you... want... wanna _feel_ you. Come for me, _Haruka_.”

The husky quality of Makoto's voice breaks through the lust filled fog and Haru comes —  _untouched —_ with a hoarse whine, soaking their shirts as he exalts Makoto's name drunkenly.

Well, he always knew he’d one day come from the sound of his voice...

Makoto presses into him, groaning when Haru’s hot, soft walls pulsate around him. One more deep thrust into Haru’s trembling body and he follows Haru over the edge, crying out indistinctly, spasming erratically as he empties himself into Haru’s convulsing hole. His hips continue to piston in and out of him, riding out his orgasm until his sensitive cock is too sore and soft to carry on.  
Haru mewls when Makoto weakly slips out of him with a wet squelch and then gasps when Makoto's drenched, flaccid cock slaps against Haru’s dripping ass.

They slump against the wall and Makoto _tries_ to keep them upright but his knees buckle and they crash unceremoniously to the floor, with Makoto taking the brunt of the fall.

“Ow. That hurt,” Haru grumbles after he lands — mostly — on top of Makoto.

“Shit. My arm is not going to like me in the morning."

“Your _arm_? Try my _ass_. _And_ my back."

Makoto smothers a chuckle and scratches his cheek sheepishly. His laugh falls off and he pushes Haru’s hair out of his face, murmuring with concern, “I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?"

Haru settles into Makoto’s large chest, “I’m fine, Makoto. Just… _really_ unexpected. It… hurt. For a bit but I’m fine now, really,” he quickly reassures Makoto. "It felt good. _Really good_. You always feel good.” He rests his chin upon his chest, “I should have known better and I only have myself to blame… I got impatient and didn’t listen.” He nips at his chin, “I want to do that again."

“Haru!"

“We’ll just make sure to use more lube next time, okay? Like,  _a lot_ more lube. …A full bottle of lube."

Makoto can’t help but burst into laughter, his eyes twinkling with adoration. “I’ll make sure to have a lot on hand. I still rather stretch you beforehand."

"I know." He chews on his lips, “And slower. Much, much,  _much_ slower."

"Deal."

Haru settles back down on his chest. “We missed dinner,” he mumbles.

Makoto’s fingers skim along Haru’s spine. “Yeah… I’m getting kinda hungry now."

“Take out?"

“Pizza?"

Haru rubs his cheek against his chest, “Might be the only thing that’s still open."

“Right. Phone. Need my phone.” He cranes his neck and looks around. They've, once again, left the room in shambles. "Where’s my phone?"

“In your pants?"

“Right. Pants…” He frowns, “Not sure where pants are.” He notices the dark slacks hanging off the back of a dining chair. "Too far… Where’s your phone?"

“Should be by the couch. Didn’t take it with me."

“Haru…” He shakes his head and rolls himself from under Haru and drags himself to the end stand where Haru’s phone is. “ _Wow_ …” he turns the screen to show Haru.

Haru squints at the screen, “A hundred messages? Who the hell is messaging—? Oh, it’s got to be Rin and Nagisa."

“Probably wishing you happy birthday. You should say thank you, Haru-chan."

“I’ll talk to them later. Hungry now. Call."

Makoto places the order and informs him that delivery will take about 30 minutes.

"That should be enough time for our limbs to function again, right?"

"It better. Otherwise, we'll be crawling to the door half naked. Don't think the delivery guy would like that."

Makoto props himself up on an elbow, his gaze turned intently onto Haru.

"What?” Haru shifts, uncomfortable at the sudden intensity of his attentions.

Makoto drags his fingertip over his collarbone, delicately grazing and dipping into the hollow of his throat. "Happy birthday, Haru-chan,” he tilts his head, his eyes crinkling as he smiles widely at Haru.

 _Idiot_. He leans into him and kisses him demurely and murmurs sincerely, “Thank you."

They lie on their sides, tongues licking, teeth nipping, and fingers dancing. Makoto tangles a hand into his hair, holding him close as he plunders into his warmth. Haru, meanwhile, fists the back of his shirt until his fingers cramp, licking the insides of his mouth, stroking his gums. Hands drift and legs tangle.  
Haru moves his thigh between Makoto legs just as Makoto’s hand brushes over his hip and stops at his ass. His fingers dip between his cheeks, finding his hole dripping with come.

“Hmm… Haru-chan is so wet…"

“Idiot. You just came in me. Of course I’m wet.” Haru wriggles against his fingers and, taking it as an invitation, Makoto slips a finger in and smears his entrance with the come that drizzles out. “Hah, Makoto…” groaning, he curls his foot around Makoto’s calf.

Makoto drags his teeth over Haru’s jawline, sinking his finger deeper into him, “Shall I clean you up, Haru-chan?”

Haru rolls onto his back and groans again, this time in dismay, and presses his face against the cold floor. Makoto has learned that Haru gets more than a little turned on by this. And it annoys him that he knows this about him because he says **all kinds of things**. Inappropriate things.  _Randomly_. Like during dinner. Or when they're folding laundry. And he'd say it without shame. Of course, Haru would pay him back by deliberately licking or sucking his fingers or by wearing one of Makoto's shirts or saying something equally as filthy. But still! It's annoying.

“Don’t ask things like that, Makoto."

“Why not? The other day, you asked me the same thing."

His head pops up, “I did not!” he indignantly denies.

“Hmm? Haru-chan has a terrible memory… I distinctly remember you asking,” he flattens his voice, “‘Makoto, would you like for me to clean you with my tongue?’”

“I do _not_ sound like that!”

Makoto continues as if he hadn’t interjected, “After you came. ...In me,” _he adds_ _unnecessarily_.

“In your dreams,” he hotly retorts.

“Eh? …Well, admittedly, I do dream about Haru saying all kinds of _filthy_ things to me,” he leans in close, his lips at his ear and whispers, “But I know you said it. And I know that you _enjoyed_  saying it, _Haruka_.”

Let it be known that Tachibana Makoto _is no saint_. Don't let the bright smiles, gentle face, and melodic laugh fool you. It's nothing but a carefully crafted façade for the general public. Underneath the unassuming, fluffy demeanor is something sinister. You think he's the perfect, wholesome someone you can take home to meet your parents but he's actually a demon sent to earth to specifically tease, torment, and seduce one Nanase Haruka. And he does a damn fine job of it. 

Haru jerks him down and Makoto topples gracelessly on top of him. "You talk too much," Haru mutters.

"You're right, Haru-chan..."

He props himself up, hovering over Haru and his eyes trail over Haru's body. "Talk less, more action," he slithers down his body, sucking at his torso randomly and hard enough to leave hickeys even through his t-shirt. He stops at the hem and dips his tongue and fingers underneath, gently stroking at the fine hairs. He drags his shirt up — using his teeth — to expose Haru's chest to his attentions. Haru squirms restlessly at Makoto's licks, nips, and sucks at his chest; his nipples specifically, so Makoto bites the underside of his pectorals.

"Stop moving so much, Haru-chan."

Haru huffs in irritation, “You can't possibly expect me to _not_ move when you do this to me. It's unrealistic!"

"Haru..."

"I mean, unless you tie me up," he blurts out carelessly.

There's a long stretch of suffocating silence at that. Haru holds his breath and is beginning to lose consciousness while Makoto blinks rapidly; he hasn't moved a muscle as his brain tries to process the words.

Finally, he looks up at Haru and in seeing him change colors, he panics. "Haru! Breathe!"

Haru releases a shuddering breath, his vision returning to him. "I didn't, I mean, I... _Shit_."

"Haru... Are— That is— do you... Are you saying you'd like to be—"

"NO! T-that's not what I'm saying at all!"

"Then..."

"Figure of speech! It was just a figure of speech!" He turns his head away, the redness on his face still splashed brightly across his cheeks. "Just... Shut up."

Makoto strokes his chin, coaxing him to look at him again, "Haru... I've never thought about it before, but... I wouldn't mind if _you_ tied _me_ up."

Haru's eyes widen at the thought and _damnit_ , he wishes the floor would open up and swallow him because this is _not_ the conversation he wants to have. He likes it better when he doesn't say anything. _Why did he say anything_? He's blunt, yes, but he's also normally very careful with his words. How can he just blurt something like that out loud? Is he dead? Did he die? He must be sick. Oh gods, Makoto is right. Soaking in the bath too long _does_ make you sick. There must be a virus or something that infiltrated his brain and took control of his speech center because there is no way— _no way—_ he'd say something like that without thinking.

"Please, stop, Makoto. Can we... not?"

"Haru, this is so unlike you. To be embarrassed..."

"I'm not embarrassed!"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not!"

"Okay, okay. Not embarrassed," he concedes. "Upset then. You said it without thinking, right?" Haru's rigid body slumps against the floor and that's all the confirmation

Makoto needs. "Don't worry about it, Haru-chan. I won't bring it up again, okay?"

Haru abruptly pulls Makoto into a tight embrace, his face warming Makoto's neck and shoulder. It's quiet but Makoto hears him clearly, "I'm... I'm not saying _no_ but... Can we talk about this later?"

Makoto kisses his cheek, “Of course. Later," he promises.

Makoto slithers back down his body, enjoying the way Haru's breath hitches when he traces a light fingertip along his ribcage. Gods, he loves the way his body reacts to his touch, the way _Haru_ reacts. The way his nipples stand in attention and the way he pants when he gives it to them. He stays there for some time; flicking them with his tongue and fingers, plucking them until they grow red and puffy; until Haru begs for him to stop because it's _just too much_.

And it's almost too much for himself. He'd been unconsciously sliding himself over Haru; their soft cocks slowly thickening at the cautious grinding. He will never tire of the feeling of Haru hardening against him; will never get used to it. And neither will Haru, from the sounds of it.  
He trails his lips back up, the urge to kiss Haru overpowering every other instinct and desire. He kisses his cheeks and the corners of his mouth before pressing his lips on Haru's. He pulls away slightly, drinking in the way Haru's long, dark lashes rest against his sharp, rosy cheekbones. He's nearly rendered speechless at the way Haru's chest shudders with every breath, the way his flushed body is laid out before him, the way he writhes underneath his weight, the color and fullness of his lips from being kissed senseless. Gods, he is just so...

"Beautiful. You're so beautiful, Haru."

Taken aback, the reds on Haru's cheeks darken and his eyes widen briefly before returning to normal. "I guess that's better than _cute_." Makoto gapes at him like a fish out of water. "What? You think just because you don't _say_ it out loud, I didn't know? I know. And I am not _cute_. I'm not a baby duck."

Makoto grins at him, "I disagree. You're very cute. You're being cute right now. In fact, you're being  _unreasonably_ cute."

"We can stop if you prefer to continue calling me cute."

"Wait, no, no, no," he traps Haru in with his arms when he tries to wriggle out of under him. "I'll stop." Haru relaxes back against the floor and he sweeps his fringe out of his eyes, "But beautiful is okay, right?"

Haru tsks, "I said it's better than cute. I didn't say it was okay."

"You're unreasonably beautiful."

Haru huffs and instead of arguing about it, he brings his legs up, wrapping them around Makoto's waist. Haru hums; he hadn't noticed the come sticking to his thighs until he felt it squish against Makoto's skin. Makoto must have noticed too because he's whispering in his ear about how he's _covered in come_. He mumbles back about how it isn't the first time and certainly won't be the last.

"But I want to see Haru-chan drenched from head-to-toe."

He bites the inside of his cheek.

 _Do not give him the satisfaction_.  _Do **not** give him the satisfaction.  **Do not give him the satisfaction**._

"You are such a pervert, Makoto. What would your poor, sweet mother think?"

"Good thing she'll never find out. You're certainly not going to tell her."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that... You inherited her perverted, warped sense of humor, remember? If she should ask..."

"She was teasing! She wouldn't ask! Who would want to know that about their child?!" Haru shrugs and it makes him uncomfortable. "Haru, you wouldn't."

"How can you be so sure? Your mom sometimes calls me to check up on you."

" _Nanase Haruka_ ," Makoto glowers at him.

…And Haruka can’t help but think that this is **_way_** worse than his Stern!Makoto _Haru_ s. At least with those he can twist it and use it against him but _this_? The use of his _full_ name? In _that_ tone? This felt like a million fire ants crawling under his skin. He's only had his name said like that _once_  in his life and that was by his late grandmother when he locked himself in the bathroom and refused to come out. She was usually lenient in letting him stay in there but he had been sick. Like coughing-up-a-lung, head-exploding, stomach-turning-inside-out, bones-aching, nose-resembling-a-faucet kind of sick. So she had every right to _Nanase Haruka_ him. Makoto, however, did not.

Haru glares daggers at him, "I can't believe you just _Nanase Haruka_ 'd me. I am your elder." He turns away from him, not really mad at Makoto but he doesn't need to know that. He just hopes he was convincing enough.

"Haru... I'm sorry! I didn't mean...! I'm sorry. Please don't be mad."

He looks back at him and Makoto's eyes are full of remorse and he feels _bad_ but he got what he wanted so he doesn’t feel _awful_. Besides, Makoto will figure it out eventually. They _always_ find each other out.

"Promise you'll never use my name like that."

"I promise! I promise I will _never_ use your name like that. _Ever_ again."

Haru hums, indicating his 'forgiveness' and, as sweetly as he can muster, he half demands-half asks, “Kiss me.” Which Makoto heartily complies to.

Despite all the quibbling, the heat and fire quickly reignites as the undersides of their cocks rub at each other, sliding over the other until they both become fully erect.

"So good like this," Makoto pants, "Haru-chan always feels so good."

"Don't... call me that when we're— _ah-hah_..."

"I... can't... help it sometimes."

"It's my birthday... You have to do what I want. Lay off the -chan."

 _By that logic…_  "Does that... mean I can call you Haru-chan on my birthday?"

"I'll, _hah_ , think about it."

Makoto’s entire body flushes even hotter, growing more and more dazed and light-headed at being surrounded by Haru; drowning in him— overwhelming all his senses. And Makoto is _positive_ that he’s going to come strictly from the noises spilling from Haru’s mouth. Makoto rises up to his knees, spreading Haru's thighs apart, holding him open, and wraps his fingers around himself. He _drags_ his cock over Haru's, _tracing_ the thick vein on the underside with his leaking cockhead. Then sliding it over, under, between his heavy sac and teasing his asshole before returning to rub at his cock again. Makoto drapes one leg over his shoulder while pushing the other toward Haru's chest.

Haru thrusts against him, using his arms to leverage himself. The stretch in his thighs at the way Makoto holds him open makes him shiver in need. He feels a hot jolt spread through his body at being completely and utterly exposed to Makoto. Completely and utterly at his mercy. There's just so much going on—hard slide of Makoto's shaft grinding against his cock, the sweat gathering and dripping from his pores, his racing heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears—that he can't seem to keep up. The pressure in his groin and lower stomach builds and coils on top of each other, bunching and squeezing tighter and tighter and—

 _BANG-BANG-BANG_!

Makoto jumps in fright. "Oh, shit! Fuck. The pizza."

Haru whines and clamps onto Makoto, “No, don't. You can't."

"I gotta get... I'll be quick, I promise." He pries Haru's fingers off of him.

"Makoto." Haru growls menacingly.

 _Shit. That's not good_... 

But he still scrambles to his feet, plucking Haru's briefs from the floor and hastily yanking them on, gingerly tucking his still raging hard-on into the confining cotton. He makes himself decent—as decent as someone with a noticeably throbbing erection can be—and stumbles unsteadily to the door, swiping some money from the bowl sitting by the doorway and cracks it open. It is in fact the pizza delivery guy. He opens it a little wider but not enough for him to see into the apartment.  
...Where Haru is lying.  
...Spread out.  
...On the floor.  
...Naked.  
Well, practically naked.

The delivery guy snaps his head away, staring wide eyed at the number on their apartment door, seemingly refusing to look at him. "Um... How much do I owe you?"

"Eighteen hundred yen, please," he squeaks. He quickly pays him and shuffles back into the apartment. He steps over Haru and drops the pizza onto the coffee table before returning to Haru.

He stands over him, “Come on, Haru. Let's eat first, okay?" He's clearly upset. You don't need to be a mind reader for that. He sighs, "I'm sorry, Haru."

Haru finally looks at him and the heat in his eyes isn't from desire or arousal. It's irritation and annoyance. Irritated that Makoto just left him hard and wet and panting and annoyance at the stupid delivery guy for interrupting them. He should get him fired. Yeah, that'll teach him.

But then Haru takes stock of Makoto's appearance and cocks his head inquisitively, "Do you have _any_ idea what you look like right now?"

Makoto looks at himself and groans a little. Admittedly, it's not great.

Haru lifts his foot, sliding it under his soaked shirt, his toes kneading his stomach. "You're covered in come, Makoto."

Makoto gasps.  _This is... different. Good different._

"And this," he drags his other foot to the boxers he's _squeezed_ into—curling his toes under the waistband, "you look like you're about to tear right through the seams."

They _are_ ridiculously tight and not much is left to the imagination. But they're Haru's, of course they'd be tight on him. They cling to him like a second skin as the fabric molds to his every curve and dip.

"That's... That's why he wouldn't look at me."

"Answering the door like this... What did that poor guy think? And how _dare_ you let someone see you like this? You ought to be punished."

He can only imagine that he looks as debauched as he _feels_. Haru drags his foot out from under his shirt to his bulge and rubs him lightly along the seams. Haru's toes flicks at his cockhead, producing a gravelly groan that escapes from somewhere deep in his chest.

“You’re so wet,” his big toe rubs at the growing wet stain in a circular motion.

Makoto chokes on his tongue. Who knew toes could be as dexterous as fingers? He suspects that it’s purely a Haru thing though. He’s elegant and graceful in everything he does. “It… it's only because—"

"And you're still hard, Makoto,” Haru interrupts, "You look like you're going to rip a hole in that with your cock. It can barely hold you," he presses down on his cockhead.  
Makoto pants, his head growing increasingly fuzzy at Haru’s words and the pawing of his foot. Haru drags one foot down before sliding it up his thigh again and dipping under the hem of the boxers while the other foot slips into the slit.

Haru doesn't object when Makoto pulls his foot closer, thrusting at him, whimpering when his toe rubs at his ruddy, dripping slit while the other massages his balls. Haru watches him closely, watches as he grows closer and closer to release. The twitching of Makoto’s muscles, his eyes fluttering shut, his Adam's apple bobbing, and — even though he can't see it — he's pretty sure the muscles of his back are bunching and coiling tightly on top of each other.

Makoto throws his head back, on the verge of coming when his head snaps forward violently—almost giving himself whiplash.

"Wh—what?"

Haru snatched his feet away at the last minute, leaving him dripping and throbbing. **_Painfully_**.

"You..." He realizes belatedly that Haru is still sulking. He fumes at him, "you are such a _child_ , Haru! What was I supposed to do? Just leave him out there? I can't believe... You are so... _petulant_!" Haru turns away and Makoto stands in disbelief. "Sometimes, Haru, I fucking swear, you can be so _fucking_ childish!" Makoto notices that Haru hasn't moved but he is chewing on his lip uneasily.

_Don't give in. Don't give in. Don't give in. Don't give— **fuck** , it's his birthday. GODSFUCKINGDAMMIT._

He squats down next to him, smoothing his damp hair from his face, “Come on, Haru. Let's just have dinner, okay? You haven't eaten anything since lunch." He softens but he doesn't apologize because he did nothing wrong. _Haru_ is the one that needs to apologize. He doesn't hold his breath for it though.  
But then Haru launches himself into his chest — surprising him — and burrowing his face in his neck.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Makoto holds him close, stunned at the apology. He knew he was remorseful but he was expecting him to _show_ him (like making green curry for their next dinner), not actually _saying_ it. He curls his arms around him, holding him tighter and kisses his temple, "I know, Haru." He pulls back, “Let's just... get some dinner in you, okay?"

"Carry me?"

"Haru..."

"I must weigh nothing to you."

"You don't weigh nothing, Haru."

"But you can probably benchpress me. How much do you weigh Makoto?"

"Last I checked? Seventy-six kilos."

"Wait, that's it?"

"Wh? What do you mean ' _that it?_ ' Are you trying to insinuate that I'm fat?"

"No, idiot. I'm saying that you're all muscle. Your muscles have muscles. Muscles weigh more. How are you only 76?"

"My muscles don't have muscles."

"You have muscles where I didn't think there could be muscles." He pokes the bulging, sinewy obliques repeatedly, “Like what... What is this?"

"You have this too!"

"Not like _that_."

"Haru..." He sighs fondly and offers, "Sousuke's been helping me refine my butterfly stroke. That might be it."

Haru pouts, "I don't like Sousuke swimming with you. I haven't gone swimming with you in so long. It's not fair."

"How about this weekend then? I'm sure I can sneak you into my university rec center."

"Really?" Makoto nods. "Okay."

He pulls him to his feet, “Dinner now, okay?"

Makoto leads him to the couch but stops abruptly when Haru presses himself against his back and feels the unmistakable erection poking at him.   
Still.  
_How in the **fuck**_?

He turns to face him. "Haru... how could you possibly still be hard after all that?!"

He shrugs nonchalantly, "I like Makoto," he offers, as if _that_  is a reasonable explanation for everything.

Makoto sighs. He likes that Haru desires him as much as he does. Really, he does but... they _just had a argument_. "What am I going to do with you, Haru?" He shakes his head in disbelief and amusement. "Let's just have dinner first, okay?"

"But it's my birthday..."

Makoto rakes a hand over his face. This is his fault. This, he admits. He’s always been far too indulgent and bends to Haru's whims far too easily. "You know, you can only use that for two more hours, Haruka."

Haru tries not to look _too_ pleased because he knows what _Haruka_ means. "I'll be sure to use it as much as possible for the next two hours then."

Haru raises up to kiss him with Makoto pulling him close, he moves them to the couch and tumbles on top of him. Haru clutches his ass, squeezing him wantonly.

Makoto nips at lips, “Wait... Haru, hold on... Lemme just— hah, get the lube."

"What? But I'm already—"

"Please? I'd just feel better after hurting you earlier."

" _You_ didn't hurt me. _It_ hurt. There's a difference."

"Haru..."

He pouts but concedes. If it'll ease Makoto's worries, then so be it. "Fine. But hurry up." Makoto scrambles away, falling off the the back of the couch in his haste.

A plan is quickly formulated while Makoto scrounges for the lube. He rips his shirt off and positions himself on the couch as enticingly as possible. At least, he hopes it's enticing. He's never quite sure about these things. They aren't things he thinks about all too often. And it's things they're still wading through together. He bites his lip nervously; it's a rather vulnerable position to be in and he can't help but feel a bit like an idiot. He's positive he looks like one too but he (figuratively) crosses his fingers and hopes for the opposite.  
When he hears the choked gurgle, he refrains from punching his fist in the air. Mission: Success.

Makoto freezes at the view. The forgotten lube squirting out messily in his tightly clenched hands. The view of an exquisitely naked Haru on all fours makes his mouth water. His spine is bowed downward with his round, pert ass lifted high in the air, and his wet hole glistening and twitching with need. The hard-on that died when he fumed at Haru quickly roars back to life and he can feel himself already leaking with desire — soaking the cotton briefs stretched around his hips.

Haru turns his head, his passive face not betraying the excitement and anticipation bubbling just below the surface.

"Makoto." His head snaps up at his name, “Are you just going to stand there and stare?" Haru nearly laughs when Makoto moves impossibly quick at that, almost tripping as he tears his shirt over his head and kneels behind him on the couch.

Sliding his hands across his hips and pert ass, he offers hard squeeze before dipping his thumb into his hole.  
Haru groans contently, pushing his hips back at his finger as Makoto drapes his larger body over him. Makoto gasps when his cotton clad cock brushes against Haru's thighs and licks the rim of his ear in response to Haru's impatience.

"You're so greedy, Haruka," he growls in his ear and, damn, if it doesn't send shivers down his spine.

Haru swallows audibly, “You say that as if you're surprised."

His low chuckle washes over him like the ocean on a warm summer day, “I suppose I shouldn't be..." He trails off to kiss him and Haru cranes his neck to reach his lips.

A blunt nail scrapes his insides causing Haru to gasp and buck, "hah—Mak...Makoto."

"Do you want me, Haruka?" Haru nods frantically, not trusting his voice but Makoto wants verbal confirmation. "Use your words. Let me hear you, Haruka. Tell me how much you want me."

Haru swallows with difficulty, his dry tongue swelling inside his mouth, making it difficult for him to manipulate his tongue and form the correct words. And Makoto's plump lips, wet tongue, rasping teeth, and grazing nose that follows along the curve of his spine doesn’t exactly make it any easier. The teasing touches skims the length of his back—from the small of his back all the way up to the nape of his neck.

“Tell me, Haruka,” his voice vibrating against the back of his ear.

Haru swallows and tries again, “Yes. Want… I want you. Want your cock, Makoto. So much," he adds for good measure.

Makoto pushes the boxers clinging to him past his hips, relief permeating his body as his swollen cock springs free, gently slapping his stomach as it bounces free. He tries to divest himself of the confining garment but proves difficult doing it one-handed. He’s able to free one leg but leaves the flimsy shorts bunched around the other knee. He withdraws his thumb from him and lines his dripping cock with Haru's equally dripping entrance and glides in slowly — and pain-free — proving the lube to be unnecessary.

Makoto pants against his shoulder blades, licking the salty sweat beading along his skin as he pauses for Haru to adjust to him. But Haru _doesn't_ wait, he rocks back against him, fucking himself on his cock. Makoto grunts at Haru's impatience and brushes his fingers at his nipples, flicking and pinching them while his other hand squeezes his hip.

"Slow down, Haru," he admonishes as he pushes into his slender frame after collecting himself from Haru's urgent and lustful thrusts. His teeth nip at the base of his neck, scraping along his spine as they grind against each other.

Haru's fingers dig into the fabric of the plush sofa, his nails fraying the weave of the threads while he cries out frantically at every snap of Makoto's hips. The wet slap of their bodies fill room, underscored with low grunts, harsh gasps, and hisses of pleasure.

"Ma-Makoto...more. Please. I...need... _hah_ , please, Makoto."

Makoto rises to his knees, moving both hands to grasp his rear, pulling his cheeks apart and sinking further into him. Wanton moans seize them both with Makoto jerking involuntarily at Haru's fluttering walls. He watches in fascination at his thick, hard cock stretching his dusky, tight hole — drooling at the way his throbbing cock gets swallowed up by Haru's eager, hot ass.  
A hand glides up his back, curling over Haru's shoulder while the other remains at his hip, fingers digging ruthlessly into his flesh, bruises quickly blooming over his smooth, porcelain skin.

"Fuck, Haru. So good, fuck. I... Haru. Love...  _Hah, Haruka_." He pulls Haru onto his cock, fucking him earnestly with Haru eagerly meeting every thrust.  
Haru buries his face into the cushion. Turning his head to breathe, he braces himself against the arm of the couch. At the next thrust, Haru throws his head back — his back severely bowing — and slams himself onto Makoto, his bones tingling at the vibrations.

Rough and raw _Haruka_ s tumble from Makoto's mouth like a stream as he plows into him, fucking him into the couch while Haru pants and pleads for " _more! Makoto... Please... fuck me...harder._ "

Makoto groans at his pleas, throbbing and growing even harder at the request. "Are you sure?" he doubles checks because they have been going at it pretty hard already. He himself feels bruised and sore so he can't imagine how Haru feels. 

But Haru nods frantically, choking out a shrill _yes_ , and Makoto happily grants it — ramming into him with enough force to make the couch groan and creak under their combined weight and frenetic movements. Their wet, sweaty bodies brutally sliding and slapping against each other loudly as they reach a fever pitch.

Haru whimpers unevenly in frustration. Even with Makoto driving into him harder — _deeper_ — than ever before, release eludes him, taunting him every time Makoto's cock grinds against his prostate. He shifts, raising his hips as he re-grips the hold he has on the couch, and at the next thrust, he comes with a strangled gasp — sobbing Makoto’s name — as the angle mysteriously provides the elusive climax.

Makoto curls his fingers around his wrist and pulls a still coming Haru to his knees, his chest flush against Haru's sweat-slicked back as he continues to thrust into his inviting body. He briefly bemoans the mess being made as Haru's scalding hot come dots the cushions in thick, milky white streaks but the chase for release proves to be stronger so he dismisses the concern.

Haru curls his fingers into his hair, " _Makoto_ ," he whimpers, twisting his body to claim Makoto's mouth.

Makoto draws his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking him roughly that it will surely leave a sore bruise. Drifting his hand to Haru's thigh, he pulls up his leg, draping it over his arm — the back of Haru's knee hooking around the inside of his elbow. Makoto then curls his arm up, clutching Haru's shoulder and effectively pinning his knee against his own chest. Makoto suckles at his shoulder and wraps his other arm around his waist.

Haru worries about crashing to the floor — there isn't a whole lot of room for Makoto to maneuver — but he doesn't want Makoto to stop; he couldn't bear it if he did.  
He squeaks in surprise at being lifted up; Makoto's idiotic strength finally an advantage instead of a detriment. Haru whines sharply, bouncing on his cock as Makoto bears all his weight—Makoto using his monstrous strength to push and pull him up and down his hot, hard shaft. Haru whimpers each time his blunt cock head bumps against his overly sensitive and thoroughly battered prostate.

Makoto grunts in his ear, the deep, scratchy growl in his voice making him _impossibly_ hard again. “Hah, happy, ah… birthday, Haru."

“ _Yes!_   _M-Makoto!_ " He sobs in surprise as he unexpectedly comes again. A quiet stream spurting and adding to the mess on the cushions.

Haru quickly begins to feel woozy, his head lolls against Makoto’s shoulder. The relentless pleasure drowns and quickly overwhelms his senses, and, _fuck_ , it’s just so much… _too much_. He _needs_ Makoto to come.  
_Needs_ Makoto to empty himself.  
_Needs_  Makoto to fill him up because if Makoto keeps this up any longer, he’s going to faint. He's also vaguely aware that Makoto has been staving off his own climax since they started so Haru begs for him to come, squeezes him as hard as he can, tightening and clenching his walls around him.  
Makoto gasps at Haru’s soft, velvety walls fluttering and clamping down around him—damn near _crushing_ him—and with one last _deep_ plunge into his tight, wet heat, he comes with a shudder—filling Haru's channel with his thick, creamy come until he’s overflowing, the sticky juices oozing out of him and trickling down his thigh. He registers Haru's hoarse scream and curses hotly when he realizes that Haru climaxed  _again_ —although dry.

Makoto wobbles unsteadily; a low _shit_ is the only warning either one of them gets before they crash to the floor, their heads narrowly clearing the coffee table. Makoto grunts upon landing, thanking whatever deity listening that he _wasn’t_ still buried balls deep in Haru when they tumbled to the floor.

Haru grunts, trying to lift himself up, but Makoto’s weight smothers him. “Makoto. You’re heavy.”

Makoto groans, “Oh, right,” and rolls off him.

Completely spent, they lie next to each other for several moments, basking at the sudden cool breeze licking at the hot, uncomfortable stickiness of their skin. Makoto rolls over to his side and with trembling hands, smooths Haru's hair from his eyes.

“Are you okay?" His breath still ragged.

Haru nods sleepily, “I can't feel anything. And tired."

Makoto's dark chuckle makes him tingle, “You came four times, Haru. I'd be tired too." He entwines his long fingers around Haru's and kisses his knuckles. "Why haven't we done that before?" Makoto asks incredulously.

Haru sluggishly blinks at him, “Done what?"

He rolls into Haru's shoulder, “You know, from... from behind," he murmurs shyly.

It's quite comical that Makoto could still be bashful after making him come _four times_ in the span of a few hours. But it really is outrageous that this is the first time they’ve fucked like this.

Haru shrugs his shoulder flippantly. "Because we're idiots."

"Oh. Right. ...Well, we should do that again."

Haru tilts his head to nip at Makoto’s chin, "Can I do that to you?"

"Oh, Haru, I _insist_  that you do." His lips graze teasingly over Haru's, "You looked like you were having fun."

"S-shut up," he mutters into his broad chest. 

They cuddle silently for several moments before Haru shifts uncomfortably. “Makoto?"

“Hmm?” Makoto responds drowsily.

“Can we have dinner now?"

Makoto's boisterous laugh rocks his frame, “Yeah, let’s have dinner, Haru.”

Haru pulls a still laughing Makoto up, snagging the box of pizza from the coffee table and offers a slice to Makoto before taking one for himself. He takes a bite and chews carefully, smiling gently at Makoto.

He nudges him with his foot, “Makoto.” He turns to Haru with curious eyes, “Thanks for spending my birthday with me."

Makoto’s dazzling smile threatens to knock him out. "There's no place I'd rather be, Haru."

"Me too, Makoto.”

 _Me too_.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gods. This was so much. 10k+ words? Merciful Zeus.  
> I planned on ending it at the first _Happy Birthday_ but then things happened and it snowballed to this monstrous behemoth.  
>  I have a lot of things that go on in my head and ~~almost~~ all of it shouldn't be for public consumption. Again, depraved degenerate.  
>  Writing smut is tiring. So, so tiring.
> 
> I just think Haru can get very petulant at times despite his calm and mature demeanor. Like when he got pissy when they first went to Samezuka and Makoto had to stop him from stripping. Or when he refuses putting on layers in the dead of winter even enough he's freaking freezing. Or when he runs away from life and his emotionsssss. He’s working on it though, I promise. Makoto helps. Obviously.
> 
> Also Makoto may think he indulges Haru too much but what he doesn't realize is that Haru indulges him just as much.


End file.
